Dubai Driving

Traveling by car and discovering Dubai is accomplished by going around instead of left as interchanges and overpasses are few and far between. Granted you may be able to see your final destination across the road but there is no quick left that will get you there. You do an endless amount of circling in this city because roundabouts are everywhere and the only rule that exists is whoever gets there first and the fastest. Playing with your horn is common, and the duration of your toot tells how pissed you really are at the other drivers. I experienced a fine example of this today when a cab driver (with a neck brace) laid on his horn for what seemed like an eternity causing me to wonder what driving infraction I committed that led to his distress.

Speaking of distress... gesturing is illegal in this town so my middle finger stays gripped to the steering wheel, while my heart, often resides uncomfortably in my stomach.

God's Affection For Chocolate

As my daughter becomes more aware of her body, she has shown frustration over the brown dots that exist on her palms and her foot, to which I reply, you can't blame God for loving chocolate... curiosity then replaces her adolescent chagrin as I begin to weave my tale. I explain that while she was growing, God's spirit would stop in and admire the beauty of what, we her parents, were creating. He is known for loving Hershey's Kisses, I say, and as he caressed your cheek, held your hands and tickled your toes, he must have had a bit of chocolate left on his spirit fingers, and as a result, the warmth of Mommy's womb baked his love into your still growing, delicate skin. Her curiosity increases to the point where she is compelled to question the heart-shaped birthmark He placed on her Father's thigh to which I say, that's easy... your Daddy's heart is full and pure, so much so, that God put his chocolate-flavored heart stamp of approval on his leg for all to see.

When at last she wondered where all of my dots were, I explained that God was so busy filling my head with thoughts and tales to hopefully one day pen, that he didn't have any time for dessert.

fornicating through a fictional relationship

It was a romantic but messy love affair... nothing more than a grown man and a stupid girl haphazardly seducing happenstance.

Finn found herself gliding across the ballroom floor in the Blue Room at The Roosevelt Hotel, on their Thursday, feeling like a princess, in what she knew, was a faux fairytale. Content to be his kept secret, she took pride in maintaining her arm candy presentation and making sure she was always where he needed her to be- emotionally, physically as well as sexually.

Her well of self-worth was dry, and she felt his bucket of beautiful promises was all that she deserved.

The commonality of their dysfunction increased, as new and exciting took on a more regular routine, so that when he broke the news of his relocation, followed by an offer to to put her up in an apartment and keep her in wealth and body, her only reply was, "well that's just geography".

And just like that the silk canvas that blanketed her emotions and held her like a noose was lifted... and she exited The Roosevelt for the last time, as a fractured, fraction of a woman.

6 line rhyme on time

The presence of time lends itself to learn.
She is patient as she keeps...
A watchful eye, as her people cry.
She is not eager and they are not meek.
Wisdom eludes them.
For in haste, they seek.

Etherally Excised

They were wined and dined by their beloved New Orleans on an oddly comfortable August evening that was so uncharacteristically cool, it persuaded them to leave the windows open while they made love under the watchful eye of the moon. He was unsettled by her body that night as he sensed that something had taken up residence in or near her womb.

It was an emergency trip to the hospital and an ultrasound of her new found girth that gave light to their worst fear. The form was lifeless and potentially diseased, and they found themselves at the surgical doors whispering prayers and exchanging kisses, that once they received the news, would turn to sobs. The doctor discovered cysts had formed on her ovaries and their necessary removal would rob them of their tomorrows.

Soon storms rolled in and there was no time to mourn, just days after the surgery they were forced to flee the home they shared to higher, drier ground. When asked years later about her Hurricane Katrina experience all she could say was, that's when God washed all her babies away.

Pilot's Wife

Plugged into my music library I am hoping to feel inspired... but my mental state is lost somewhere over the Atlantic, after jetting across the world and fooling Father Time. I am back to the land of eternal sunshine which is layered with dust and manicured green space and devoid of the promise Autumn brings.

There is a charred hole in the desert, just a stones throw from my home, that we all seem to be lost in. I am a pilot's wife, who is currently caught up in someone else's despair.

It is a slow Winter's death as the weight of the frost on our emotionally frail limbs leaves us feeling fractured, exchanging too many kisses and I love you's before the car picks him up for a flight.

I am more conscious of near misses on the sidewalk, not wanting to step on the cracks and have my luck change... I need him to come home...

The Death of Sand

When I walk along the beach I stare at a perpetually blue sky that does not cry, it only blinds with reflective glory upon the granules beneath my feet.

I dig my toes into the sand in angered desperation and shed tears for the blue above me and the brown below me.

It is a life of contrast with bodies caught in its cruel center hopelessly yearning to blend.

I gouge out a hole in the flesh of the sea that the tide has left behind and hope for lightning.

I dream of an ethereal death for the crystals that silently fill my lungs and consume my soul.

I want to create a glass landscape as frail and muted as the heart that's housed within me.